After a rough start to the week (a terrible, horrible, no-good Monday morning), today’s daybreak presented a new beginning. An angel must have silently joined us because there were hugs and smiles and winks and sleepy, hungry bedheaded boys at the breakfast table. A brief clothing negotiation with the youngest threatened the peace but worked itself out (he won’t wear anything but short pants; there is a chill in the air now but still, he won’t tolerate long pants).
I steal a moment to set an intention for the day. I have been running. Not far, not fast. I have eliminated the clutter in the living room. I have begun to frame the story for a – – – I hesitate to claim it. But I am writing something that I hope people will read. I am also reading something that kept me up last night almost breathless as I whirled in the fantasy of a story of a magical circus set in the late 1800s. The words gave me pause as I could never ever hope to write such a story. But maybe. I can try.
There will be characters. There will be conflict. There will surely be tears.
Seeking transformation, she notes that one cannot change without sacrifice.
Seeking respite, she chooses lightly and sleeps deeply.
Seeking healing, she wonders how it feels to fly.